


you will remember me

by spendon



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, F/M, Gen, M/M, centuries au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:25:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spendon/pseuds/spendon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David's Day is based off of the story of David and the Goliath. Except, every year, the Goliath always wins. Pete introduces the others to a thing called the Resistance. Based off of the Centuries music video with an extended plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 Patrick was unsettled by the jeers of passersby while his horse drawn cart remained still. Although he was clever, he wasn't the strongest man in Rome, and the ropes that bound his arms and legs together were drawn tight. Even if he could weasel himself out of his bonds and easily climb out of the cart, there was no way he could get past the guard that stood by the crate he was forced into.

 He glanced around to see both familiar and unfamiliar faces of townspeople, adult and child. Their expressions were mixed - some with curiosity, some with anger or fear, and others that showed no care for what was happening, too distracted by what they were already doing. To some, the Collection was deemed unimportant.

 The Collection was only the start of David's Day. Royals, townspeople, and all other people alien to Rome would gather to the Colosseum to watch the Battle happen. It was a cruel game for the Royals's pleasure and entertainment, placing random civilians into a fight against a powerful opponent trained from birth to defeat, where they were given no upper hand, and now, Patrick was subject to it, along with three other men who he'd never met or even _seen_ in his entire life. He didn't spare a moment to ponder on how vast the world was, for he was too busy concerning over his life. There was no doubt that he wouldn't come back from the Battle.

 He shifted his gaze to the carts that were suddenly pushed up next to his. Patrick realized that these men were the men who would join him in the Battle. To his left, a man with curly hair drawn back kept his head ducked, shaking with the shuddery breaths he took. The younger looking man was caught staring at Patrick for a split second before averting his gaze back to the wooden bottom of his cart. Patrick barely saw his eyes, let alone his face, but they were a brilliant blue color. They reminded him of sapphires. He was clothed and armored differently than Patrick - he actually looked more vulnerable, but he paid no mind to it.

 To his right was a man who appeared as if he could beat Patrick into a pulp in just a minute. His arms were muscular and his shoulders were broad, and Patrick obviously had a reason to fear him. But the man looked just as scared as Patrick did, although a bit more open about it. Beneath the long beard he had grown, his face was soft, and maybe the fact that this big burly guy was terrified relieved Patrick just a little.

 He couldn't get a good look at the fourth man, who was to the right of Beard Man's cart, but he could just barely make out his head. His hair was short and blond (almost white looking, but it could've just been the sunlight) and his face was drawn taut, his brows furrowed. He looked angry, to Patrick, but it was more of frustration, vengeance, than it was fury. When the man looked up from the ties around his wrist, he looked straight at Patrick, right into his eyes. Naturally, Patrick flinched, and looked away.

 It was just barely the beginning to David's Day and he already wanted desperately for it to be over. He wanted to go back home to his _family_ , but he feared he would never return. Competitors rarely ever did, the last recorded victory seeming like eons ago (though really it was around two hundred years or so).

 A shadow loomed over his figure, and he raised his head to the sight of a man with a cloak draped over himself. His hood shaded his face as he approached Patrick's cart, passing words with the guard. He heard him say "I am not giving him a weapon, sir," and the guard let the dark man up to the wooden "bars" of his cart. The man slipped his hands between them and held something out for Patrick to take.

 Patrick's expression turned confused as he took the object from the man, who hurried away. He'd given him a thin, thin rope that must have been at least no more than a foot long. He tried to come up with reasons why, but no possible answers came up. He watched the hooded figure give the rest of the men their own objects. The man to his right, he could make out, also had some kind of rope, but the blond one and the man to his left had items too small for him to see. Patrick could only hope in the slightest that these would assist him.

 He was startled out of his thoughts when his cart started moving again, listening to the carts wooden wheels rumble against the rocky ground. Slowly the carts aligned, giving Patrick a chance to finally get an entire look at whoever it was behind him. It was the blond man, who was staring at him again.

 He didn’t know why this guy gave him such an uneasy feeling. He felt like he had seen his face before, somewhere, somehow.

 But nevermind that, when he looked ahead again, he could see the Colosseum towering the skies, and even from this far away could he hear the roaring cheers of what might as well be thousands of people. He hated this. He thought of his older siblings, and his parents, and how he’d probably never see them again … but in a situation like this, he couldn’t cry. He needed to muster up his strength.

 So he bit on his lip and choked on his forced silence, waiting for the arrival of his death.

 

 Moving from carts to cages, Patrick found himself behind metal bars instead of wooden planks. He fumbled with the string in his hands, tucking it into one of the cuffs on his wrists that the guards had given to him for the decorative look, though maybe they would protect his wrists while fighting as well. That was probably why.

 Approaching the cells were four guards, one for each man, and unlocked the doors. The one covering Patrick grabbed his wrists and yanked him forwards, dragging him to an entrance where sunlight streamed in. Patrick squinted - he could see the trained person who they would be fighting stampeding around the center of the arena, batting his fists against his chest like some kind of animal. He was huge.

 He was pulled away again, from the entrance, and had his armor adjusted into uncomfortable positions where the metal dug into his skin. His cuffs were drawn so tightly that he could see his pasty skin already turning a light shade of red around where the ends pressed into his blooming flesh.

 Patrick could hear the vulgar annoyance of one of his fellow fighters - plenty of swears and curses and complaints coming from the somewhat nasally yet almost thick voice. As much as he himself wanted to swear out loud, he didn’t feel the need for it. He just wanted to get out of here alive, and see his family again. He bet the others did, too. The blond guy looked old enough to have kids, even.

 The dreaded time came, the Battle, the period every competitor hated with their life, the period where almost every competitor would give _up_ their life. No, not give up, that wasn't right. Lose their life was more like it. He was escorted to his entrance of the arena by some guards, and a gate fell closed behind him. Patrick swallowed nervously as he approached the center of the arena. He was going to die.

 The other three were coming from their own entrances as well, and now Patrick could see them all clearly. He could tell that they were all taller than him, especially the one with the short curly hair that was combed back. His blue eyes flickered around the stadium, and he was jittery. Patrick noticed that they all had tattoos, an uncommon thing in Rome. He wondered if they brought in outsiders to battle in the events of David's Day this year, besides Patrick, who already resided in Rome with his family.

 He followed Curly Hair’s gaze - he was staring straight at the Royals. They were leaning forward in their thrones, eyes slitted as they watched them, waiting for one of them to move. He felt pressure, felt a sudden wave of weakness.

 The Goliath waited, his smirk spread wide across his face as he shouted insults and temptations to Patrick and his competitors. Patrick himself was waiting, because he knew he shouldn’t make the first move. He had to think things through, he needed his wit, and he needed it badly.

 Beard Guy had a sword - wait, did they get weapons? When did that get there? Patrick had no time to think as the event in front of him had captured his attention. Beard Guy swung the weapon through the air as he tried to bring it down onto the Goliath, but the Goliath was quick for someone so large and rather … brainless looking.  

 He brought up his leg in the air and crashed it into Beard Guy’s ribs, knocking him backwards. The sword went flying off to the side. If the Goliath could beat the strongest-looking of the competitors … Patrick didn’t have a chance.

 Surprisingly, the next one forward was the jittery man with the stunning blue eyes, Curly Hair. He ran forwards just as the Goliath had knocked Beard Guy backwards. Patrick heard the Royals laughing.

 The Goliath drew up his arm and wrapped his large hand around Curly Hair’s throat in attempt to strangle him, but Curly Hair managed to get some punches in to the larger man’s stomach. However, the point was moot given the fact that the Goliath had leather clad over his stomach, and he was sent backwards just as Beard Guy was.

 At this point, Patrick panicked. Giving it no thought at all, Patrick put up his fists and hurried forwards, but as soon as he took a couple of steps towards the Goliath, he was a number of feet away, lying on the floor with a huge pain in his jaw. He had been punched to the ground. This guy was incredibly strong, and the only hope left was Blond Dude. But all of that hope was destroy when the Goliath slammed him into the ground, leaving them all on the floor to writhe in their pain and accept death.

 Patrick struggled to sit up. When he finally managed to bring himself to his feet, he felt the rope fall out of his cuffs, as they had loosened a little due to Patrick's perspiration. He had completely forgotten about that! But what good would it do? He stared at it, narrowing his eyes as he tried to think.

 The others stared at him, though more so the object in his hands, and wandered closer as they all stood up. Beard Guy had a small rope as well, Curly Hair a pad of leather, and Blond Dude a white pebble. They stood in silence as they met eyes, and suddenly, the light went off in Patrick’s head.

 He explained his idea to Blond Dude, who put followed his instructions quickly as the Goliath head towards the shelf with axes in it. He moved quickly as he put together a slingshot with the four objects they’d all received from the hooded figure during the Collection. Curly Hair pointed out the hooded figure in the Royals’s stands, and Patrick felt surprised. Did the man intend for this to happen? Had he planned this all out?

 Blond Dude whipped his arm around a few times before launching the pebble forwards at the Goliath, and it hit dead on, right where they wanted it - in between his eyes. Patrick couldn’t help but burst out in cheer and hug the Blond Dude, hug Beard Guy and Curly Hair. They had won! He was going to return home and see his family again!

 Now Patrick could _laugh_ at the Royals who deemed them useless, who deemed them dead meat within the first minute of seeing them. They were victors now, they were going to receive their prize (a large amount of gold coins, mind you), and they were going to go _home_. Patrick would see his mother and father and his siblings again after all.

 He looked up to jeer at one of the Royals, but the man with the crown set atop his head had gone from grimacing to holding a smug smirk, nodding his head to behind Patrick. He took a deep breath as he turned around, and there are the entrance of which the Goliath had came from stood a new man.

 He looked just as strong, but his expression was wily. His eyes were wide and crazed looking, and Patrick already could tell that he had a Lion inside of him. Patrick was confused, he was angry - these weren’t the rules of David’s Day! Should a victor succeed in winning, they were to be rewarded with a cash prize and a chariot with two white horses home! Were the Royals changing David’s Day?

 “Run,” Blond Dude whispered, “We have to run. Right now, before our gates close.” He gestured to the smaller entrances that they had emerged from, which were open, but the spiked gates were beginning to fall again.

 He didn’t have to tell Patrick, or Curly Hair or Beard Dude twice. They all made a bee line for one entrance, and one by one did they slip underneath the descending gate. Patrick fell to his knees and panted, trying to catch his breath, for he never thought he’d run so fast in his entire life. He looked to Curly Hair, Blond Dude and Beard Guy, who were right by his side.

 “Come on,” Blond Dude said, “I’m going to get you guys out of here. I used to work as a guard, I know my way in and out of this shit building.”

 Maybe that’s where Patrick knew this guy from, but something inside of him told him that wasn’t what it was.

 “I’m sorry - what’s your name?” Patrick tried, hoping that Blond Dude would answer. It was possible that hearing his name would refresh his memory a little, since looks apparently weren’t enough.

 “Peter,” Blond Dude answered, to which the rest of the men uttered their names. The Beard Guy was named Andrew, and Curly Hair was named Joseph. Peter then narrowed his eyes. “Now really, let’s go, before the guards catch us!”

 Unfortunately, the name didn’t ring a bell to Patrick. Nonetheless, he followed after Peter down the hallways of the Colosseums alongside Andrew and Joseph, listening to the sounds of their sandals slapping against the dirty stone floor. Behind that he could hear metal clanging, guards barking orders to each other. They were being chased, and with a 99% chance that the guards were carrying weapons, Patrick hatched an idea.

 "Peter! Andrew! Joseph!" He hissed out, stopping for a split second to abandon his sandals, todssing them down a foreign hallway. "Get rid of your sandals! They're making way too much noise, and we've got guards on our tails. Hurry up and _run_!"

 Without a moments hesitation, the other three ditched their sandals and threw them all down separate halls, then followed after Peter again, who had bolted towards an exit, which illuminated the main hall, once he had thrown away his shoes. Gravel dug into the bare bottoms of their feet, but they would have to deal with the pain later, as none of them were sure if they had lost the guards or if they needed to run a bit more.

 Either way, Peter led them to a horse stable where they could catch their breath. Patrick wanted to assume that he worked here, but he wasn't sure. He leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath of fresh air, wiping some sweat off of his forehead. In all honesty, he was scared that they were going to get arrested for running off. And even worse - they never got their prize, their gold. If Patrick could have returned home without getting caught by guards... he'd have gone back to living poor. Oh god.

 Patrick can't go home.

 He'd endanger his family by going home, they'd kill him right in front of his parents for running off. Or worse, they'd kill his family in front of him, and then kill him. Or the worst suffering of all: leave him alive to deal with the guilt. He gulped, running a hand through his sweaty hair, then winced. His entire body was aching, he'd realized, and only just felt it now with his adrenaline draining.

 Andrew took notice to his sudden displays of pain and crouched down in front of him, starting to loosen his cuffs and peel them away, carefully lying them on the cobblestone floor. Peter brought over a few sacks that he'd emptied the hay out of for them to put the armor in, seeing as it may come in handy, and started to take off his own uncomfortable cuffs and shin guards. Joseph also made a move to help Patrick take off his chestplate.

 In return, Patrick helped Andrew and Joseph get off the pieces around their necks. He also unwrapped the ace bandages from Joseph's chest and Peter's arms - while the lower arm thing wasn't such a big deal, the chest was. Surely that would've crushed Joseph's ribs, had they been on there for too much longer.

 "We may not be able to return to our homes safely," Peter announced once they all had taken off the offending attire and settled down against the walls of the barn. "The guards will be looking for us. Chances are we will have to leave town for a bit."

 Patrick nodded, pity sinking in his chest when he saw the crestfallen looks on Andrew and Joseph's faces. They really hadn't realized the cold, hard truth until now? Bless their innocence, he thought.

 "Luckily, I am used to leaving town frequently, and know a place we could stay at. But we may have to... ehm, gather some items vital to our survival before we take leave. And there is a very, very high chance that we'll have to steal some of these horses."

 Patrick stared at him. A spark of interest crossed Joseph's face, but the look Patrick shot him washed away any ideas that he had in mind.

 "You can't expect us to just go and steal things like it's the most easy thing in the world," Andrew protested. "We're not thieves! We're not criminals."

 "Clearly you don't know who I am," Peter replied tartly, though his tone had an edge of snarkiness to it. "My name is Pete Wentz, and I'm the leader of the Resistance." He reintroduced himself proudly.

 So that's where Patrick knew him from. He'd heard of some Pete Wentz back when he was a teenager, with adults talking about him in hushed voices. Some looked concerned, other's delighted. That was all Patrick could remember, though. His memory was not the best and often failed him.

 "What...?" Andrew trailed off, raising a brow. Okay, good, Patrick wasn't the only one just a little stumped over the whole "Resistance" thing.

 "I figured you wouldn't know about it. You see, the Resistance is fighting against things like today, David's Day. The Resistance are the people who are willing to punch a Royal in the face and demand some respect. Who don't want to be treated like shit all the time. Oh, and we also want lower taxes, but that's different. Aren't you guys tired of the brutality? We have so many holidays based on us _killing_ each other just for the entertainment of the Royals's. I can't imagine how much more barbaric things were two hundred years ago."

 Patrick clicked his tongue, staring down at his feet. Peter - no, Pete - had an excellent point. It was harsh. Then again, Patrick was schoolfed that that's just how life is, and maybe this Pete guy could change that. Maybe this Pete guy could finally fix the wretched lives they were all living in.

 "If you guys follow my lead and join the Resistance, I can provide you with safety. Shelter, food, water, all that stuff. You'll have to take an oath, though, that you promise your loyalty and won't rat us out to higher-up's or whomever. You get the gist?"

 Patrick nodded, but he could see the uncertainty on Joseph's face. Did he not see how _right_ this was? Did he not want freedom from the Royals, who demanded unnecessarily high taxes? Who had several holidays just to watch civilians die?

 He stood up. "I'll join you," Patrick said, looking towards Andrew expectantly.

 Andrew sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he hesitantly stood up beside Patrick, combing his fingers through his hair. "I'm in," he muttered, shooting a hard look in Pete's direction. "But if any of us get arrested, or like, jailed just to be murdered the next day, I'm going to ask them to let me kill you."

 Patrick could tell the threat was empty, but he could still see Pete shift in discomfort. He glanced to Joseph, who was staring up at the three of them with a rather sad yet annoyed expression. He held back a laugh at the pathetic look, and reached out a hand to the disgruntled man on the ground.

 Joseph reluctantly took his hand, his mouth forming a pout. "Fine," he grumbled, "But you owe me a new pair of sandals." He flashed a harsh glare to both Patrick and Pete as he lifted his leg up and rubbed at the bottom of his foot, trying to rub away the prickly pain from running on gravel and stone and dirt.

 "I may have lied about having to steal food, but we _will_ end up having to get water from the well. Also, we can only take two horses, so we'll have to share. Patrick, Joseph, you two go and fetch water. Andy and I will work out getting some horses ... we'll come looking for you guys once we get our "noble steeds." Do your best not to get caught." Pete disappeared for a moment after he finished instructing them all, then returned with two empty water canteens, handing one to Patrick and the other to Joseph. There were a few more hanging around the stables, Patrick realized, but they couldn't risk getting caught by taking too long at the well to fill up one for each of them.

 "Move out, you two. I wish you the best of luck."

 Patrick dipped his head in appreciation and looked to Joseph, unable to read the taller man's expression.

 "Come on," he uttered in a single breath. He watched Pete and Andrew pick up all of their bags before disappearing with Joseph to the nearest exit of the stables. Patrick pulled Joseph back when he kept trying to walk forwards.

 "The only well in town is at the center of the village," he explained, becoming worried. "It's dangerous if it's crowded, and dangerous if it's not. We'll have to steal robes to disguise ourselves if we don't want to get caught. There are probably guards roaming the streets looking for us."

 "You're right," Joseph nodded, but his words were tinged with bitterness. Patrick couldn't blame him - he hated the thought of stealing.

 They wandered to town, and Patrick was right about the guards wandering around searching for them. Every time they spotted one they'd hide away in an alley until they thought it was safe, and kept on exploring until they found someone's clothing line hanging between two building windows.

 Joseph reached up, just barely tall enough to snag the two robes that dangled from the thin rope. He handed the smaller one to Patrick. Together, they slipped on their new clothes and pulled up the hoods, shielding their eyes from the sun and protecting their faces from any passersby who were seeking them out to turn them, in the chance that they could be given a prize.

 Now that it was safe to go to the well, they walked to the center of the village and knelt before it. Patrick reeled up the bucket of water from the spool of rope and dipped his canteen into the water, listening for the bubbles that would begin to pop up once it was near filled. After they started to disappear, he pulled out his canteen, and Joseph mimicked his actions, screwing the canteen shut afterwards.

 "Hey!" A voice shouted, a long and gnarled finger pointing at the two men accusingly. The elderly women's face was drawn with a burning fury like no fire Patrick has ever seen before. Unfamiliar faces turned to stare at Joe and him.

 "Fuck," Joseph whispered

 "You're two of the four men who got away!" The women said in a shrill voice. "Guards! Capture them!"

 Patrick heard the clink of metal again, and he jumped to his feet, making a break for it. He ran as fast as he could, with Joseph at his heels. He powered through the crowd, and although he hadn't bumped into anyone, he could still hear the distraught voices of the crowd, upset "excuse you"s or "watch it"s. He then heard the sound of horse hooves galloping on the cobblestone paths.

 Even if it was Andrew or Pete, there was still a slim chance that the guards were after them on saddleback as well. He didn't turn around - just swallowed and tried to run even faster until his muscles were burning.

 "Patrick!" Someone called out, and Patrick recognized it as Andy's voice, the galloping of the horse growing louder and louder until Andy was riding right next to him, leaning over a bit and extending out a hand. "Grab my hand! Get on!"

 He took a shallow breath as he ran, reaching out to grab Andy's arm. He was about to get pulled up, but the slice of a shining blade against Patrick's forearm had him swearing out loud, stumbling back before he collapsed to the ground. His robe was torn and a large amount of blood was pouring out of the deep wound on Patrick's forearm, spreading into the stolen fabric of his disguise.

 Andy turned around when he realized he hadn't pulled Patrick onto his horse, and saw that a guard had caught up to him. He reared up his horse, and brought its hooves down onto the guards chest, a powerful blow that would knock the man out cold without another breath. Against violence as he was, he had no other choice if he was going to save the younger man from capture and possible death.

 Without another thought, he slipped off of his horse and moved quickly. He ripped a strip of cloth off of Patrick's robe, rolling up his sleeve. The wound was too deep, he'd need treatment as soon as possible for it. Using the resources he had, Andy worked to make a tourniquet for Patrick's injury, using a stray stick for a tornision.

 Andy heard guards coming again, and hurried to help Patrick up onto his horse, letting the man sling himself over his shoulders. It wasn't good for him, but they needed to get out of here, and fast.

 Just barely able to make out Pete in the distance, Andy trotted after him, eventually leaving the town and the guards behind. Patrick, only able to speak to himself in his mind, realized that he would probably never see his family again. The throbbing ache in his upper arm and complete numbness in his lower made him feel very tired.

 Then the world faded to black.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 "The Abandoned City? _Really_?" Joseph exclaimed, looking down to Pete with an irritable look. Pete had gotten off of the horse a little while ago and now walked alongside it. "This is where bandits who rob the town live!"

 "Who do you think those bandits are? If you stick close, Joseph, you'll start seeing why we do it," Pete shrugged simply, uncaring.

 "Sure," Joseph said sarcastically. "Andrew, is Patrick holding up okay?" He looked over to the other half of the small group. Andrew looked like he'd seen a ghost, and Patrick was still out cold, his skin whiter than it already was.

 "We need to get him to a doctor," Andrew said shakily.

 

 "Brendon?" Pete called, searching the formerly abandoned building for the healer they'd obtained during a raid to another, smaller town.

 "Pete? Pete!" Brendon's voice echoed excitedly through the empty halls as he bounded into the main room of the hideout. Though this wasn't their main headquarters, some members of the Resistance resided in a few of the old buildings. Some had even repaired and refurbished them. Brendon was one of them.

 "Pete, you're - you're actually alive!" He nearly squealed as he threw his arms around the Resistance leader. When he pulled away, his wide grin faded. "Pete? Who are these people?" He then noticed Andrew carrying Patrick in his arms, and the blood stains all over the paling man's clothes and skin.

 "They're recruits; they were with me for the Battle of David's Day. This guy got caught by a guard after we tried to escape. Help him, Brendon, please," Pete whispered, looking to Andrew worriedly.

 Brendon lead them into another room, gesturing for Andy to lie Patrick down on the couch. He sucked in a breath, scratching at the back of his head.

 "Take those two to the base," Brendon said, looking towards Pete. "Show them around and get them food. I'll do the best I can, I promise, but I need to be alone for this. What's this fella's name?"

 "Patrick," Pete replied.

 "Who - who made this tourniquet?"

 Andy raised his hand nervously. Had he done it wrong? Was it not wise to do that?"

 "Smart thinking, you. Now, go, shoo, all of you guys. I'll tell you how everything turns out, okay?"

 Pete nodded, swallowing dryly before grabbing Andrew and Joseph's arms, dragging them out of the building.

 "Brendon isn't a doctor, but he's got enough medical knowledge to pass as one. We just call him our healer," Pete told them, walking down the path to a bigger building, with a crumbling ceiling. A tarp was spread out over the top to cover the hole, though the wind caused it to flap and flutter noisily.

 "He lives with Spencer. Quiet guy, but he's a great fighter. We're lucky to have him - I think the only reason he came here in the first place is because of Brendon, really. When we recruited them, they stuck together no matter what. He's opened up a lot more in the past couple of years, but he's still a little hard on some of the newcomers."

 Pete pushed open the door, only to be greeted excitedly by a small crowd of people. Chatter immediately commenced until Pete told them all to hush up, dying down to whispers until there was nothing but the sound of the wind outside.

 "I made it back, as you all can see," Pete said calmly. "But so did my comrades, and they are joining us in the Resistance. There are four of us, but our new brother is with Brendon right now. During our escape he nearly got caught by a guard. If not for Andrew, he likely would've been captured and killed."

 Andrew ducked his head, running a hand through his hair. Pete took the canteen of water that he'd taken from Patrick after he'd collapsed and the one from Joe as well. He tossed them to a tall man with fluffy, dark colored hair, who was leaning against the wall, a cup of wine in his hand.

 "Dallon, take these to storage, and stop drinking our wine. That'd for celebration only. Meagan, how's our food supply?"

 "We're still well stocked," said the woman, Meagan. She cradled a child in her arms, who was too small to be even a year old. She had a blanket draped over herself and a towel swaddled around the baby. "Saint is much better, too, Pete. Brendon has been doing such a good job keeping the sick away."

 "Andrew, Joseph, this is my lover, Meagan, and my son, Saint," Pete smiled gently at Meagan. She beamed back at him, and turned her head to the other men.

 "Very nice to meet you both," she said.

 As Dallon reentered the room and sat beside a dark haired gent with a ginger beard, almost like Andrew, and another woman with purely black hair that curled at the ends, Pete gestured to them.

 "Dallon is the tall one, Kenny is the short one, and that's Sarah."

 They all waved, greeting the new members warm faces. Sarah stood up, walking over to them, closing the door that Pete had forgotten to shut when they entered. Her eyes, though a strikingly cold blue color, were warm and bright and friendly.

 "Nice to meet you," she said cheerily. "Pete, I think we might have an empty room left in the right wing. Should I show them to it?"

 "Yes, thank you," Pete nodded. "That'd be great, Sarah. And then bring them back here, I'd like to show them the storage and elsewhere."

 She dipped her head to Pete and headed towards a stairway. Andrew trailed behind her, followed by Joseph. Her footsteps were light against the stone stairs. She stopped abruptly once she's reached the top, turning around to face them.

 "Oh, give me a moment!" She said, running down the hallway, entering a room. When she returned, there were two pairs of sandals in her hands.

 "Kenny whispered to me to give you guys shoes, since you weren't wearing any."

 Joseph smiled for possibly the first time Andrew had ever seen and slipped them on, letting out a sigh of relief. "Thank god," is all he said. Andrew said his thanks, too, stepping into the sandals, then followed Sarah down the hall again.

 She turned down another hallway, then opened a door, holding it open for them. Andrew peeked into the room before stepping in.

 "This usually is a guest room," she explained, gesturing to the two beds. "For our members who don't live here with us and are just passing through, but need a rest for the night. You guys can sleep here - it's okay that there's two beds, right?"

 "Yeah," Joseph nodded. "They're really big for twins ... wow."

 "Those are queens! It's a large room, and we had some mattresses lying around, so we built some beds and threw them in here."

 "I'll take the one by the window," Joseph said, putting the sack of his removed armor down on the floor next to it. Andrew shrugged and put his bag down by his decided bed. This is where he'd been staying, then. Just wonderful.

 "Do you guys need some time to settle in, or should I send you back down to Pete?" Sarah asked, tilting her head.

 "We're ready."

 She lead them out of the room and down the hall, back down the stairs. She waved her fingers at Pete.

 "Thanks, Sarah," he said, "Joseph, Andrew, the storage is down in the cellar. There's the door over there, but you aren't allowed to go down there by yourself without mine or Dallon's permission. Got it?"

 "Yes, Pete," Joseph answered.

 

 Patrick awakened in unfamiliar surroundings. Unfamiliar, but somewhat comfortable. He could smell the warmth of a fire crackling, the snaps and crackles coming from downstairs. He was lying in a bed with a blanket drawn over him. As he tried to move and sit up, a sharp sear of pain ran through his arm. He'd forgotten for a moment that he was hurt. His left forearm was bandaged up, but the wraps were stained red. Blood, he realized, but it wasn't as fresh as he worried it was.

 When he looked over to his right side, he saw a bedside table with a plate and some bread that smelled fresh, as if it'd just been made. Patrick reached over with his right arm and snagged the loaf, biting into it hungrily. He knew he shouldn't be eating it, considering he could be lying in the dungeon or prison of one of the Royals's households, but none of them would treat him this kindly for sure.

 "Pete?" He called out, "Pete?!"

 The creak of wooden stairs sinking underneath someone's footsteps told him he wasn't alone. The door swung open, and out popped an unrecognizable face. Patrick winced.

 "You woke up!" The man blinked, smiling. "Pete is going to be happy about this. Hi, I'm Brendon - I've been taking care of you for the past couple of days."

 Brendon walked towards him, putting a hand up to his forehead. He frowned.

 "Your fever hasn't gone down by much. Do you feel hot? I can open a window, if you'd like."

 Patrick had a fever? This Brendon guy had been taking care of him for the last few ... days?

 "Um, I'm okay. How - how long have I been out?"

 "Just a few days," Brendon answered, setting the glass of water that he brought up with him on the bedside table next to the plate where he'd put out bread for Patrick to eat. "You're very lucky, though. Smart thinking of that Andrew to tourniquet your arm - not only did it stop pretty much most of the bleeding, but it kept that arm wound clean. If it hadn't been for him, that nasty cut would've gotten infected. I've cleaned it off and stitched it up, but I have to replace those bandages."

 Brendon opened one of the cabinets that hung on the wall, taking out some strips of bandages. He around to the left side of the bed. Patrick splayed his arm out straight on the bed, watching Brendon unwrap the soft cast. He looked away when he saw his stitched up cut in his arm. He hated how squeamish it seemed of him.

 Another man entered the room, his face blank of any expression, walking over to Brendon and Patrick, setting down a bowl of water on the table where Brendon had put his clean strips. He nudged Brendon with his arm carefully, handing him the washcloth that he held in his other hand. He smiled softly when Brendon turned his head to look at him.

 "Here's the water and the towel that you asked for," the man said.

 "Thanks, Spencer," Brendon smiled back at him, leaning up a little to give him a peck on the cheek. After he unraveled all of Patrick's bandages, he dipped the towel into the water, then smoothing it across the bloody skin around Patrick's injury. The water was cooled down to a warm temperature, and the towel was soft.

 Patrick flinched when his healer started to dab the towel gently over the stitched up skin. Brendon murmured an apology, looking over to Spencer.

 "Hand me a wrap?" He asked as he finished cleaning up. As he was handed the bandages, he slowly started to redo what he'd been doing for the past few days, wrapping them around Patrick's arm, doing the same with each strip that Spencer handed him until there were none left. He then made it so that they wouldn't unravel or fall off by clipping them together.

 "I'm sorry, Patrick, but you'll have to stay in bed for a while. Your arm probably hurts a lot, but it's the fever that's keeping you bedridden, really. Spencer, can you go start up some soup? I'm going to go tell Pete that Patrick's holding up okay." He looked to Patrick. "You are, right?"

 Patrick nodded.

 "I'll just be a moment, really. Pete and your friends are bound to be excited to see you! Andrew seems really worried about you, so he'll be very delighted." Brendon smiled and left the room, bouncing down the stairs and howling a goodbye to Spencer, who had gone downstairs to start cooking up a stew of the sorts like Brendon asked, before leaving the building.

 The few minutes that it took for Brendon to return with Pete, Joseph, and Andrew seemed like hours to Patrick. The four of them all filed into the room, spreading out to where they preferred to stand. Pete stood at the foot of Patrick's bed, his hazel eyes flickering to the bandages on Patrick's arm.

 "You're okay?" He asked, raising a brow.

 "Yeah," Patrick nodded. "Apparently I have a fever, though."

 "It's an aftermath from the shock," Brendon explained after a few seconds of silence passed. "Suddenly being so cold, and then he goes straight to being overheated. He'll be fine in a day or two, so no worries."

 Andrew approached Patrick, the look of concern on his face almost heart wrenching. Patrick couldn't put his thumb on why Andrew seemed so concerned about him, but it was rather alarming. He hoped that the bearded man wasn't too upset.

 "I'm sorry you got hurt, Patrick," Andrew murmured. "It's my fault. If I had just been a little quicker at gaining up on you - "

 "Hey, no!" Patrick said, sitting up despite the pain it caused him. "Andrew, don't say such things, it's not your fault! There's no way it wouldn't have happened, really." He touched his hand to Andrew's arm, smiling weakly. The smile Andrew returned looked forced more than anything.

 "I’ll be up and running around with you tomorrow, really. Don’t be too hard on yourself,” he said.

 Andrew only shrugged.

 “Outta the way,” Spencer interrupted as he came in, another bowl in his hands. “Sit up a little more, Patrick. I let it cool a little bit, so if you like your soup as hot as the devil’s hellfires, you’ll have to deal with it.”

 “We should go,” Pete suggested, speaking up. Joseph nodded, while Andrew did nothing but follow them out of the room.

 Patrick wondered why they acted as if he was dying.

 

 Patrick’s fever was worse the next day, but he recovered two days later. His arm was feeling much better - though he wouldn’t be able to lift much - so he was able to walk around instead of being bedridden with nothing to entertain him except the books that Brendon supplied him with and Spencer’s grumpiness having to do chores.

 Brendon directed him to the hideout, where the Resistance members usually rested and hung out at. He opened the door nervously, shutting it behind him. Instantly he was greeted by the same unfamiliar faces that Andrew and Joseph had seen around a week ago. The three men he fought alongside were all relaxing together on the beaten up couch, looking over their shoulders to peer at him.

 “Patrick!” Pete grinned widely, bits of bread that he’d crammed into his mouth sticking out from between his teeth. “Hey! Sarah and Kenny are out, but this is one of our members, Dallon.” He gestured to the tall, dark-haired man. Dallon waved.

 “Hi, um, I’m Patrick,” he replied, scratching at the back of his head. “This is where you guys usually stay … ?”

 “We _live_ here,” Pete said, “Uh, I’m not sure if we have another bedroom left for you. Dallon, did Andrew and Joseph take up the last room?”

 “I don’t know,” Dallon said, standing up, then heading up the stairs. “I’ll go check.”

 “Go do that, yeah. Here, Patrick, sit down. How’ve you been feeling?”

 “Sick of the Brendon and Spencer household,” he mused, giving a light hearted chuckle. He sat down in between Andrew and Pete, sinking into the couch. “All I’ve done is read. It’s not bad, but I need to do more than just sit around.”

 “Unfortunately for you, that’s all we really do. We’re still trying to build up on our resources before we move on to actually trying to attack, and make a statement. No, no, that’s not strong enough, not powerful enough. Make a _change_.”

 Dallon clapped, laughing as he returned from the upstairs. "Excellent speech, Pete. Glad to see you're giving them all a lesson on the more important matters, but we'll discuss living for now. We have one more ... bedroom, I suppose, though it's not really a bedroom at all. We have an extra bed in the storage room, but I could move it elsewhere with some helping hands," he looked around hopefully, then continued, "Would anyone care to help so that Patrick has a place to rest?"

 Andrew stood and followed Dallon back up the stairs, his (new) pair of sandals slapping against the stone stairs, in comparison to the wooden ones back at Brendon's house, where they merely creaked under each step. Patrick clicked his tongue, shuffling into the extra space so that he wasn't being completely pressed up against Pete and getting into his personal space.

 "I'm waiting for Kenny to get back, since he's our little mastermind on raids, but I'm thinking of looting a small town nearby in a little while to help you guys get a feel of what you're getting into by staying with us and what you'll be dealing with. After that, if you're uncomfortable doing this multiple times, then you're free to go, but let it be known that by leaving, we'll know who our true allies are."

 Patrick nodded, looking over at Joseph, who only shrugged. He watched as Pete got up and took down a painting, revealing a rather old and dusty looking map that was hung behind it. The edges looked burned, and there were several tiny holes scattered around, as though the whole thing had been rescued from a blazing fire.

  Pete pointed to a few of the inked circles on the map. "These are all cities," he said, "And the ones that aren't filled in are major cities, like Rome." He slowly dragged his finger across the map, his finger stopping on the "X" that was drawn. "This is where we are, the Abandoned City. And all these tiny slashes scattered across the place are towns. If there's two slashes next to each other, that means we've already raided there. Sure, they'll probably recover, but we want to give them time before we take another go. Plus, we want to explore the terrain everywhere and see if there's a better place we can stay, or any towns we should avoid. We want to make sure that we're going to be safe if we migrate anywhere."

 Joseph tilted his head, gesturing to a red splotch of ... something on the map. "Is this candle wax?"

 "It was the only way we could mark the map in red. Y'know, blood doesn't stay red when you use it on paper. Turns brown. That's what we used to point out Rome, though."

 "We're pretty close to Rome, then," Joseph commented.

 "Yeah. That's why we want to move - even if it helps for our future attack on Rome, we can't get discovered. We've already seen patrols of people who aren't Resistance circling around this place."

 "You could kill them. You could bait someone and lead them away, then kill them, and take the horse."

 Patrick stared at Joseph, eyes wide. How could he just say that without giving another thought to it? He shifted uncomfortably, thinking for a way to lead the topic away from murder.

 "How would you guys even move? What about all the beds? Storage?" He tried, avoiding Joseph's gaze and keeping his own eyes set on Pete, and only Pete.

 "Sarah can build wagons," Pete told Patrick, "So if we helped her to speed up the process, we'd make a few to put our mattresses in one, storage in the other, and one more for everyone who isn't a wagon guard and a wagon driver."

 "Did you guys live anywhere before this?"

 "Sarah, Dallon, and Kenny all lived in Rome before we met them," Pete said, his expression falling. "But I lived in a small town with two other men - we were teenagers at the time - named Ryan and Brent. We all left our home for a new place, because they were doing the Collection in our village, and we didn't want to be taken away from our families. But Brent never did anything, he never helped us ... so we made him leave."

 Pete sighed, continuing, "And then we met Brendon and Jon. We went to loot their town - and we'd just barely started, but we found the two of them. They were homeless and starving and needed recovery, they needed help ... so we brought them home with us and helped them get better. We formed the Resistance, and we knew we were going to make a change. But after a while - fuck, I don't know why. I don't know why, but Ryan and Jon stole my horse and just left without another word. Brendon wouldn't talk to me for days.

 "Before they left, though, we'd made quite a name for ourselves further north. We were robbers, bandits, criminals. And for whatever reason, only god knows, we had a guy named Ian join us. He was a nice guy, a pretty calm man, but one day he just disappeared. He didn’t leave, that’s not the kind of person Ian was.

 “After a trip to Rome to buy up supplies while in disguise - Sarah saw us, Brendon and I, we still don’t know how she recognized us, but she came up to us and asked to travel with us. Hell, like I said, we were _criminals_ , but we couldn’t turn down another member willing to join the Resistance. We explained to her who we really were … what we really did … and she seemed awestruck.

 “But that wasn’t all from her. She said she had friends who idolized us as well - these two guys, Kenny and Dallon, and the amazing, the beautiful, Meagan. Brendon really hit it off with them all literally the day we met them, and I easily bonded with Meagan, but we both realized that we couldn’t bring them all back home. It was too far. It was too small. We needed to find a new place to live - so we rode around on horses that we stole, me own my own, Brendon with Sarah, and Dallon with Kenny. And we found this place, we found the abandoned city, and with Sarah’s heftiness, we could renew some of these buildings and make them livable.”

 Pete took a deep breath after finishing, running a hand through his hair. “Sorry, that was a lot more than just living before places.”

 “Wait, wait,” Patrick interrupted. “Then where did Spencer come from?”

 The blond man blinked, furrowing a brow. He stared at the floor for a moment, trying to think back.

 “Spencer saw Brendon get hurt during a raid once, I think, and he - he didn’t kidnap him? - but he took him home with him and helped him get better. He brought him back to us after a few days, then left. After a week or two, though, I think he came back. He just had this special bond with Brendon, I suppose, but I think now it’s really obvious where they stand with each other,” Pete said after a few moments.

 “Don’t tell Brendon I told you about all of this, though,” he continued, “He hates our history and he hates when people bring it up. He’s more of a live in the now kind of guy, instead of mellowing in the past.”

 Dallon came downstairs once more, Andrew following behind him. He cast his pale gaze onto Patrick, offering a slanted grin. Patrick noticed how the taller man always had a rather sneaky look on his face, always looked like he was up to something. He wondered if it was just him who’d thought that.

 “We had to shove your bed into Joe and Andy’s room,” he said, “Because we have nowhere else to put it. If you’re not okay with that, we can try to put it somewhere else, but again, I don’t think there’s really much we can do about it.”

 “It’s okay, Dallon,” Patrick said. Joe and Andy … since when did that start happening? “I don’t mind sharing a room. I’m used to sharing with my brother, so, it’s fine, really. No worries.”

 “Alright,” Dallon nodded. “Sarah and Kenny aren’t back yet? Pete, should we send Spencer out to go look for them?”

 “They’re fine, Dallon, they said it’d take all day for them to find a town we haven’t mapped yet.”

 “Whatever you say,” the other trailed off, whistling lowly as he looked away for a split second.

 “Don’t worry, really. They’ll be here tonight for dinner.”

 

 Sarah and Kenny did return home, safely, like Pete had ensured. Brendon and Spencer came by for dinner like Pete had said, Spencer and Sarah both moving swiftly around the kitchen and cooking as Dallon and Patrick studied the map over the “dining room” table that Kenny had brought home with him. It was almost an exact replica of the one they’d had hidden behind the painting, except there were trail lines and names written and scribbles.

 “This is where Kenny wants us to head?” Patrick asked, peering up at Dallon.

 “Yeah,” he nodded. “He says it’s a pretty wealthy looking town, but there’s not a lot of protection. No fences, no walls, no soldiers marching up and down the streets. We don’t steal money directly, just so you know, we take peoples produces and sell what we can for ourselves. And also so that we can have food and medicine.”

 Patrick frowned. He still wasn’t used to the thought of stealing, but the tone of Pete’s voice when he said that “by leaving, we know who our true allies are” really made him nervous. When he talked to Meagan about the unsettling, alarming words, she had merely told him that Pete just wasn’t good at expressing things easily and comforting, but he wasn’t going to hurt them.

 “But it’s not just food and medicine we’re stealing this time around,” Dallon said, almost darkly. “We’re taking weaponry.”

 “That’s - that’s a big leap,” Patrick murmured, staring at the floor as he remembered the crippling fear that ached through his bones when Andr- Andy picked up his sword and was easily defeated by the Goliath in just a mere matter of seconds. He ducked his head, coughing from the vile taste in his mouth.

 “Patrick, are you okay?” Meagan spoke up from across the other end of the table, standing up. Carefully, she handed off Saint to Dallon as she put her hand on Patrick’s back, motherly concern crossing her expression.

 “I - I’m okay,” Patrick choked out, keeling over in his chair.

 It was an anxiety attack. The memory of David’s Day replayed in his head, the fear he’d felt when the knock on his door with a booming voice demanding for Patrick. Stripping down and being fitted into clothes and armor that were too tightly strapped onto him. He took a shaky breath.

 And being thrown into the wooden horse drawn carriage, being shoved into the cells in the Colosseum. Forced into walking into the middle of a huge stadium with thousands of people staring at him had made his arms prickle and his cheeks run flush, not just from the unbearable heat of the sun. The adrenaline pumping through his veins was the only thing that kept him from crying, because he was scared.

 He was horrified at the thought that he was going to die, his corpse left bleeding over dirt and sand, with nobody to care for him except his sobbing mother who’d been forced to watch him die, his siblings who would look away the entire time and hide their faces in their father’s chest - and the father trying to hold it together.

 Patrick could tell he was being moved, being carried, because he felt it, but all he could see were the cruel thoughts, the paralysing memories.

 But it was over. He had Brendon and Meagan at his side, both trying to help him calm down, stop jerking and twitching. He saw Andy staring at him across the room, his expression showing what looked like pity to Patrick. When he realized Patrick had caught him staring, he turned and left for the kitchen. Patrick felt something sinking inside of him.

 “Patrick?” Brendon whispered, “Are you okay?”

 “Brendon,” Patrick said quietly in response, the only would he could form. The young healer and the caring mother both leaned in to hug him, while Meagan rubbed his back with her hands slowly to provide him with comfort. He didn’t feel like he wanted to celebrate tonight anymore.

 “I’m right here, Patrick,” he replied, keeping his voice soft and hushed. “Food is almost ready. Do you want to dine with us or do you want to sit here for a bit longer? I can get you a blanket - you feel cold.”

 “I’ll eat with you guys,” Patrick said, staring at his hands.

 Meagan helped him to his feet, pressing a tender kiss on his cheek before bringing him back to his chair. He saw that Dallon had folded up Kenny’s map and placed it elsewhere, and was now sitting at the table with a glass of wine.

 Patrick reached forwards, pouring himself a glass of the rich drink, sipping at it. He’d wait for dinner, and he wouldn’t drink much. He wasn’t the type to drink, really, but he felt as though he needed it to calm his nerves at the moment.

 He took a deep breath, watching as Sarah and Spencer streamed into the room with a large pot of soup, freshly baked bread, tons of somewhat exotic fruits arranged neatly onto a plate and some kind of roasted meat that Patrick couldn’t exactly identify, but he wanted to guess that it was chicken. He couldn’t help but notice the wrinkle of Andy’s nose, the disgusted look he sent to the cooked meat.

 Everyone gathered to the table and sat down, pouring water and wine for each other, passing along the plates of food and goods. Patrick took his share and passed his plate along to Kenny, offering a weak smile to him. Kenny only nodded back.

 “I’d like to make a toast,” Pete announced as he rose out of his seat, “To Patrick, Andy, and Joe, for joining us in the Resistance and providing us all with a forming friendship. He raised his wine glass, holding it out to the center of the table. “Cheers to you all, my trustworthy comrades and friends.”

 They all clinked their glasses together, laughing and smiling and joking with each other until everyone was full. After finishing their meals, they shared anecdotes and tales until the time was late and everyone was yawning.

 Meagan was the first to leave. “Saint is asleep and I’m pretty fatigued myself,” she said, smiling warmly to everyone. “Good night, all of you.”

 Shortly afterwards Kenny and Dallon retreated to their rooms, as did Joseph, then Pete went to join Meagan. Sarah retreated after chatting with Andy, Spencer, Patrick and Brendon one more time. Spencer ended up dragging a very drunk Brendon home later, bidding farewells, leaving Andy and Patrick to sit across from one another at the table. They stared, holding the silence in the room.

 As Andy got up, Patrick thinking that he was going up to their room as he lifted his wine glass again and sipped at it, the other man took the drink out of his hands and set it down on the table. Before Patrick could get in a word of protest, Andy brushed his lips against Patrick’s.

 “Wh- “ Patrick stuttered, staring up at him with wide eyes.

 “I don’t drink,” Andy mumbled, “But I wanted to taste the wine on your lips.” Without another word, he headed upstairs.

 Patrick watched him go, his jaw agape slightly from the surprise of the action. Minutes later after pondering upon what’d just happened, he was the last one to go upstairs and succumb to slumber.


	3. Chapter 3

 Nearly a week had passed since the night of the feast, and Patrick was still alarmed about what'd happened between him and Andy. It wasn't like they didn't talk, but they never mentioned anything about the kiss to each other. The night after the celebration, even, Andy had acted like nothing happened between them. He just went about the chores he was assigned to by Pete.

 He wasn't necessarily given time to think much on it deeply, though, as the quiet chatter and whispers amongst each member and small private meetings between Pete and Kenny told everyone that a raid was going to happen soon. Patrick was nervous, sure, but he was also excited. His first raid! He was bound to make Pete proud of him and make sure he thought that he wasn't a waste of space. He could prove himself.

 Everyone waited in the living room patiently, though really they weren't patient at all. Kenny and Pete emerged from the meeting room, their faces serious. The entire room was silent for a moment before Kenny spoke up.

 "As you all have pretty much figured out," he started, "We're going to be raiding a town about forty kilometers away. It's north of us, and this time, we're taking weapons back home with us, not just medicines and goods. Brendon, Spencer, I'll make sure that everyone gets something to you so you can head to Rome and sell what you can. We are _really_ going to need the money in case nobody can grab a bow and arrows to go with it."

 "What's the plan?" Sarah raised her hand, speaking up.

 "Spencer is staying back this time, because now we have Joe, Andy, and Patrick. It's not much of a change, Sarah, you needn't worry. Andy, you'll be coming with me - we're going to get food. Try to get stuff that doesn't rot. Joe, you're going with Sarah and Brendon to steal herbs and medicine. Pete and Dallon, you guys will be taking Patrick with you. I'm relying on you three to get all of us our weapons."

 Patrick swallowed. Why did he have to help with the weapons? Couldn't he assist someone with getting the food or the medicine instead of having to be the one to get the weaponry? He was positive Dallon and Pete would be able to do it by themselves, he would just get in their way and ruin everything. Then they would kick him out or something and leave him for the wild animals to get at and eat. Sure, he wanted Pete to be proud of him, but ... really?

 "We're leaving at sundown tomorrow. Get enough sleep, stay hydrated, and make sure you don't eat _right_ before we leave, but a little while before. We need to keep our strength up for this," Kenny finished, glancing around the room. He focused on Patrick, staring right into his eyes, his expression hardening, as if he had started to clench his jaw. "

 “Right. Everyone, we’ll have an early dinner tonight so that we can all get a good rest,” Pete added.

 “I’ll make dinner in an hour or so,” Meagan stated further, looking towards the candles they had set up in the window to represent the time. Each candle had 24 sections slit into them - each section burned within an hour, and a new candle would be lit the next day. Or, rather, the first person to wake up would go check the sundial outside and see what the hour was, then remove the sections that had passed on the candle and light the next one once the current hour was over.

 “Thank you,” Sarah smiled. “Spencer and I could use a break on cooking.”

 Meagan looked pleased with Sarah’s response, and Spencer only nodded to her in appreciation. That was enough - coming from him, at least - for her.

 “Patrick, come here,” Dallon said lowly, the pale color in his eyes seeming as cold as ice now, like they were looking into his soul. As he left the living room to the meeting room that Kenny and Pete usually gathered in, Pete trailed after him, looking over his shoulder at Patrick.

 Swallowing nervously, he got up from the couch to follow them into the room. He could feel Andy and Joe’s burning stares against the back of his head. Patrick’s skin flushed all the way down from his cheeks to his neck, his arms tingling. He closed the door behind him, inhaling deeply to try and relax.

 “We’re going to be looting the weaponry shop,” Dallon said, “And you heard Kenny say that you’re coming with us.”

 Patrick nodded.

 “You understand that this is the most important part of the raid? We need to get this stuff so that we can prepare you, Andy, and Joe not just to fight, but to defend yourselves. If what Pete said is right, you’ll have to know how to battle and fight off whoever it is that’s been spying on our little town for activity.”

 “I know,” Patrick murmured. “I’m sorry that Kenny put me with you guys, I don’t know what he was thinking, I don’t know how to do this kind of stuff-”

 “Kenny didn’t group you with me,” Pete interjected, cutting off Patrick’s aimless rambling. “I did. I told him I wanted you to move with me, so … but if you don’t think you’re brave enough for this, you can stay back with Meagan.”

 “I’m brave enough,” Patrick muttered, chewing on his lip. “But you have to listen to me, Pete! I’ve never done this kind of thing before - I’ve never stolen, I’ve never taken anything from people that I shouldn’t have or without paying.”

 “Get used to it,” Dallon scowled.

 “ _Dallon_ ,” Pete said sharply, before looking back to Patrick. “You’ll be fine. I’m sorry we’re putting you on the spot like this. If you listen and do everything I say that night, then you’ll be fine, and each time you’ll start to get used to it and be able to do things on your own. I think you’re smart, Patrick, I believe in you. I believe that you can figure this out quickly and work your own thing.”

 With the given situation, that was the most reassuring Patrick had ever heard in his life. The simper on his face was wide and sheepish.

 “Thank you, Pete."

 

 “Everyone!” Kenny shouted from the top of the stairs before bolting down them. “It’s time! Get your horses and your disguises!”

 While everyone else was rushing from their rooms or already downstairs, Patrick still lay asleep in his bed. He'd woken up, eaten the breakfast that Meagan had so kindly provided for them all, had discussions with everyone at the table, then returned back to his bed to sleep again. A few hours, he'd woken up again, then eaten and drank some water, then passed out once more.

 "Patrick," a soft voice said, gently shaking him into consciousness. He blinked himself into the waking world, and saw Andy hovering over him.

 "It's time," Andy continued, stepping back once Patrick sat up. "We're leaving for the raid. You gotta get up."

 "Shit," Patrick said quickly, sliding off of the bed, grabbing his knapsack off of the floor. It was filled with the articles of clothing to make up the disguises that Kenny had handed out - tunics and trousers, with a ripped up piece of cloth to cover the lower half of their faces as not to get recognized by people who have possibly seen them before.

 He stripped himself of the clothes he wore to sleep and put on the ones provided. He tossed Andy the cloth.

 "Can you get this around my head?" Patrick said, turning so that his back faced him. Andy nodded and stepped forward, drawing the cloth around Patrick's mouth and nose, then tying it at the back of his head.

 "Thanks, Andy," Patrick smiled behind the mask, giving him a gentle slap on the back. He then ran out of the room and down the stairs. Dallon was at the bottom of the steps, waiting for him. He nodded his head towards the door.

 "C'mon," Dallon said, walking out of the building. Patrick could see two horses outside the window, with Pete sitting on top of one. He watched Dallon climb utop the other one, and he figured that he would be riding with one of them. He silently hoped that it would be Pete - it's not that he didn't like Dallon, he was just kind of scared of him.

 "Good luck on your first raid, Patrick," Meagan said from the couch, smiling at him.

 "Thanks, Meagan," Patrick replied, nodding off to her as he head out the door.

 "Hey, stranger!" Pete called out as Patrick stepped outside, waving him over. "Get on! Sarah said you could ride her horse, and she'll ride with Brendon."

 "Um ... "

 "Well? Patrick, get on, we have to go!"

 "Pete, I don't know how to ride a horse!" Patrick protested, his eyes wide.

 "What?" Pete stared at him, then shook his head. "Fuck, Patrick, I don't have time for this! Get on my horse and we are teaching you riding _tomorrow morning_." He held out a hand, yanking Patrick onto the horse. "Sarah, you don't need to ride with Brendon, you can go get on your own horse!"

 Sarah nodded, sliding off from behind Brendon, then mounting her horse, grabbing ahold of the reins.

 "Let's go," Pete finally said, and with the rear of his horse and a very terrified shout of protest from  Patrick, they rode off.

 

 The ride to the town took a while. Sarah had estimated that it was about forty kilometers away, and they also got lost, but only once, having followed the wrong trail at a split road, an easy mistake. Once they were on the right track, Patrick could make out the faint gleam of candle lights locked in aerated glass cases to illuminate the streets under the midst of stars and the moon.

 They rode into town, slowing down their pace significantly so that the horses walked, the only sound able to be heard being the clicking of their hooves on the cobblestone streets. They all gathered in the plaza, glancing to one another before focusing on Sarah and Kenny, who knew the way around the town from their earlier travels, their "expedition."

 "The market is down that way," Sarah whispered, pointing down a street. Her eyes glowed brightly in the moonlight, as did her shiny black hair, her skin so pale that Patrick thought she almost looked like a ghost. "It's night time, so it's closed, but there's a storage building at the end of the stalls. The only doors are the ones for each storage room. They're locked, all of them, but a few people haven't realized that their locks are creaky or not working if you shimmied, nudged, or tried lifting the door a bit. I think the buildings are pretty old." She looked to Kenny and Andy. "Good luck, you two. I want you to meet back here if you can - if anyone wakes up or comes chasing after you, make a break for it. Get home as fast as you can if things go wrong."

 Kenny nodded, before leading Andy off in the direction of the market, clutching his knapsack tight.

 "Pete, Dallon, Patrick," she continued, watching Andy and Kenny leave. "The blacksmith and the weapon shop are down the same way as the market, but you have to go right at the third turn. It's all the way down at the end of the road, they're right across from each other. Rivals, I assume. You have a better shot at the weapon shop considering that the blacksmith lives where he works, unlike the shop owner, as well as the fact that the weapon shop probably has a bow. Like I said to Kenny and Andy, meet us here if you can, but if trouble comes, head straight for home."

 "Thank you, Sarah," Pete said.

 "Good luck. Now, Brendon, c'mon, the pharmacy is this way!" Before Patrick could even say goodbye, she was racing off with Brendon to to steal the medicines that they required.

 "Okay," Dallon huffed, shifting on the saddle of his horse. "We'll do as Sarah recommended and take from the shop."

 Pete nodded, looking down the direction of the market. He tugged on the reins a little, before their horse was galloping down the street, passing by all of the other buildings that they'd deemed useless. Only a few blocks down was the cottages of the townspeople who slumber while they create chaos in the night. Patrick felt kind of bad - they could be ruining these people's lives. But he wanted to live.

 Once they were down the road after the third turn to the right, Patrick could see the blacksmith's building. Of course, he wouldn't even know it was if not for the word "Blacksmith" scrawled out in big letters across a wooden plank hammered over the door. He looked across the street to find what he was sure was the weaponry shop. Pete tied down their horses halfway down the street, so that their occasional whinnies or neighs wouldn't wake up the blacksmith. If they somehow got caught, they would have to make a run for their horses.

 They all slid off of their horses, glancing to one another. Dallon stepped forward and examined the door for a brief second before pulling on the handle. It gave no budge, so he tried pushing instead. Still nothing.

 "I don't even know why I bothered trying with that," he sighed. Patrick watched as he took a step back, then back forwards and brought his leg up into the door, kicking it down. The loud cracking sound of the wood added with it crashing down to the floor made him wince. Surely that had to have woken up the blacksmith from across the street? If not, Patrick was sure that they were the luckiest men on the planet.

 Dallon shook out his leg, turning around to face Pete and Patrick.

  "Come on," he said, "Let's hurry up. If anyone else heard or woke up to that, they're going to be curious about what just happened."

 Pete nodded, stepping over the splinters of wood scattered across the floor. He glanced around the dark room, observing the swords and knives propped up against the wall, their hilts glinting in the light as the blade itself was sheathed in thick leather. Immediately, he pulled one down from it's place and unsheathed it, giving the blade a thorough, up close examination.

 "The swords are good," he commented quietly, inserting the sword back into it's sheathe, then sacking it into his bag. "Take what you can. If it doesn't look handy, it probably isn't, just leave it. Watch the weight of your stuff, too, we don't want to overwhelm the horses."

 Patrick nodded, deciding to go behind the counter and check for anything that was hidden. Dallon was picking out small daggers and knives, dropping them into his sack without another care in the world, while Pete took interest in a flail. While he knew he couldn’t really bring something like that home with him, it was just an entertaining looking weapon. Patrick only rolled his eyes.

 They stayed there for a little bit more, collecting the items they wanted, until they heard vulgar shouting coming from a familiar voice. Pete and Dallon ran outside to see if anything was going on nearby, then made a break for their horses. In a panic, Patrick hurried to open the wooden box that he’d found behind the counter. A bow, a quiver, and plenty of arrows were kept inside it. He picked them up, with his bag slung over his shoulder, and ran out of the store.

 He chased down Pete until he caught up with him, being pulled onto the horse. He held the bow tightly in his arms, looking up to see candles being lit up in windows. The noise had awakened several grumpy and confused civilians.

 Dallon and Pete tracked down where the loud noises had come from - Kenny and Andy, being tracked down by two strangers on horses, who were beginning to pick up on them.

 “Fuck,” Pete hissed out under his breath. He charged towards them, leaving Patrick to cling onto him tightly. “Kenny! Andy!” He called out, waving an arm to signal that he was coming for them.

 “They’re going to get killed!” Dallon shouted as he came up neck and neck with Pete, staring at him with wide eyes.

 “Not on my watch,” Pete said confidently, urging his horse to go faster. They were gaining on the other four, but not quick enough for them to save them. Patrick was panicking on the inside as he raised the bow he held in his hand, picking an arrow from the quiver wrapped around his side. Dallon stared at him.

 “Patrick? Patrick, what the fuck are you doing?!”

 “What’s he doing?” Pete asked, his voice concerned.

 Before Dallon could answer, he drew back, as he was in Patrick’s way, and thought he was about to get shot by the younger man. Instead, Patrick drew back the arrow and shot it into the distance. He felt his mouth dry up when the one of the men chasing after Kenny and Andy that he targeted fell from his horse and onto the ground, remaining still. When he didn’t get up, Patrick had a hard moment processing the fact that he had just killed someone.

 Patrick just _killed_ someone.

 He immediately started to tear up, his throat tightening. Why did he do that? Why did he kill him? That person probably had a family, just like him, probably needed all that stuff to support them, and they were stealing it. He ducked his head, blinking away the tears that wouldn’t stop coming.

 The shock of what he’d done had, of course, scared the other man and made him run off with his horse, leaving Kenny and Andy to run free. Patrick let the bow rest at his side again, and hearing a “good thinking” from either Pete or Joe made his heart ache. He just murdered someone and they were telling him he did good. Once they’d finally caught up, Kenny flashed Pete a bewildered look.

 “What just happened?”

 “Patrick shot the guy chasing you. He’s either really damn lucky, or extremely talented with a bow.”

 

 The ride home was easy and quick for everyone but Patrick. Sarah, Brendon and Joe made it home later, like Sarah had predicted. Everyone was home safe and with a good amount of loot, cheering to those who stayed home. Spencer had pulled Brendon into a kiss and told him that he was worried about him. Patrick ignored the sick feeling in his stomach, thinking of how the man's possible spouse would be crushed. He dropped his sack into the living room with the other's and went upstairs, curling up in his bed.

 He didn’t want to be pat on the back for his “good work.” He didn’t want to be praised for murder. Did they not see the loss of life as cruel as he did? Especially caused by another person?

 Patrick strayed himself into his thoughts, not even realizing that he was crying silently save for the few meek sounding whimpers that escaped past his lips. He was startled back into the present when the door creaked open and Andy walked in, sitting on the side of his bed, his expression soft.

 “Patrick,” he started after a long moment of silence passed. “I know you’re upset. We all are.”

 “Don’t tell me that,” Patrick protested, “They’re _proud_ of me. They keep telling me that I did good. I killed a man and they don’t even care.”

 “They do,” Andy sighed, running a hand through his fluffy hair. “Pete’s sorry. He gets that you’re upset, and he says he feels the same way when he ends up taking someone’s life, says he'd never try to kill an innocent person on purpose. It’s a horrifying feeling and it leaves you numb for what seems like forever. But he has to push through that. You saved mine and Kenny’s life. We probably would’ve gotten really hurt if you didn’t act quickly, even if you weren’t thinking straight.”

 Patrick sniveled, sitting up. He crossed his legs and kept his head hung, just barely peeking up at Andy. “But I _killed_ him.”

 “I’m not exactly the best person to be talking about this with,” he murmured, “Considering that I’m against violence, and will likely never experience this, but some things just happen, Patrick, even if they’re unintended. I’m here for you if you need help getting through this, you must be terrified right now. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

 “You’re not wrong, Andy,” Patrick whimpered, scooting closer to him and leaning his head on his shoulder. “I’m terrified.”

 Andy got an arm around Patrick’s waist, pulling him down with him onto the bed, hugging him close. He put his colorfully decorated hand over Patrick’s blank one, brushing his thumb over the back of Patrick’s hand.

 “Thank you, Andy,” he whispered.

 “Mhmm,” Andy hummed, bringing his other hand up to idly play with Patrick’s hair, running his fingers through it. Patrick sighed, and although he was still in shock, the warm presence of his friend was starting to calm him down. He fluttered his eyes shut, letting himself be comforted by Andy’s gentle touches.

 

 “You’re holding the sword wrong again, Patrick,” Pete sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked to Patrick in frustration. “It’s literally the easiest thing in the world. I don’t know how you keep messing up.”

 “I’m sorry! We’ve been training all day, Pete, don’t you think you could move on to something else?” Patrick lashed out. He was still upset over what happened the night of the raid, and he didn’t want to be learning sword fighting immediately afterwards. Something calmer would be more settling.

 “Okay, fine,” he gave, casting a glance over his shoulder down the road of the Abandoned City. “Our stables are just down this street. If you want, I’ll teach you how to ride a horse, since you don’t know how to do that, either.”

 He shrugged.

 “I mean, honestly, Patrick! What kind of man doesn’t know how to ride a horse?”

 “Shut up, Pete.”

 “Really!” He laughed, then stopped the teasing. “Most of our horses are really tame, so I think you’ll get the hang of this pretty quickly.”

 “Okay,” Patrick nodded.

 They walked down to the stables, the smell of hay, and a sickly sweet smell (rotting fruit, he thought) flooding Patrick's nostrils. Pete held the gate open for him, walking alongside him as Patrick entered the stables. It wasn't really a stable - but actually a small prison. The upper floors had collapsed, but the first remained. Horses were put into the larger cells and the iron bars were replaced with wooden fences and gates. The floor had tons of hay bales worth of grass and hay spread across it.

 Pete lead Patrick up to one of the stalls, pointing to a liver chestnut pelted horse. The beast sniffed at the front of the cage.

 "This is _Virtute_ , Spencer's horse. I'm sure he won't mind if I let you get your hand at riding by using her." He walked over to a chest that sat across the room. When he opened it, he pulled out reins, a bit, a bridle, and a saddle, then returned to where Patrick stood. Pete unlocked the gate and lead Virtute out of her stall, running his hand down her mane.

 "You have to be really careful saddling a horse," he explained as he moved to her side, placing the saddle on her back. "If you don't strap it on tight enough, not only will it fall off, but you'll fall off, too."

 Pete finished setting up the gear after he spoke, setting up the bridle and the bit, connecting them. After that was done, he made sure everything was strapped on correctly and tight enough, as well as the comfort that Virtute showed. He grinned widely, giving her a gentle pat on the neck.

 "If it"s not clear, you use the reins to slow down a horse, or to change the direction. You give them a little tug if you want them to slow down, and a harder tug if you want 'em to pick up the pace. Pull on them harder, or too hard, and the horse will rear up." He put his foot up on one of the stirrups. "You get up by stepping on this, either side, and then you hook both of your feet into them. It's another way to keep it so that you don't fall."

 "Okay," Patrick nodded, clicking his tongue. It was already a lot to process in one sitting, so he needed to push it all through his mind slowly.

 "Just so you know," Pete added on, "Horses can see almost exactly around them, but not directly behind them, so always approach one from the side. Otherwise, if you come up from behind and start touching them, you'll get one powerful as fuck kick in the face, and if you couldn't tell already, horses have some damn strong legs. Don't want one of those coming at you."

 "Geez," he blinked, taking a step back.

 "Ah, but needn't worry. Virtute lives up to her name - she's the most obedient and well behaved horse we've got. Spencer just has that special connection with horses, I guess. He takes really good care of her." He smiled gently, then untied the rope around the wooden fencing. All of the stalls had one, Patrick noticed. Pete slid over and tied it around the horn of the saddle, to lead the mare around until it was time for riding.

 "We're going to go outside for this, obviously," Pete said, rolling his eyes.

 "Right."

 Pete lead Virtute and Patrick outside, walking down the street until they reached the "plaza." The sun beamed down on them, not a single cloud in the sky. Earlier, there'd been a few, but now the sky was bright and clear. Patrick had to put a hand up above his eyes just so that he could see.

 "Do you need help getting on her?" Pete asked.

 "No, I can do it," Patrick said confidently. He held onto the saddle horn with a hand, stepping on the stirrups, bringing his other leg around to the other side of the horse. He smiled proudly at his quick mounting. "See?"

 "Alright. I'm just going to walk her around with this rope for a bit so that you can get used to the feeling. It's a lot different than clinging to someone from behind while they're in charge," he laughed.

 Patrick scoffed, picking up the ends of the leather reins. He wasn't steering, like Pete said, but just being walked around. It was weird - bouncy - but weird. At least it wasn't sprinting. Then, he'd probably fall off of the horse. Pete circled them around the plaza a few times before stopping, letting go of the rope. He stood on his tiptoes to untie the rope, coiling it up and holding it to his side.

 "Now try it for yourself. If she starts going a little faster than you want, remember, gentle tug on the reins. Not too hard, though, or she'll just end up going faster. And as a beginner, you really don't want that. For now, just one pull and she'll start moving."

 Patrick cocked a brow, then did as he instructed, pulling back the reins once, taking a deep breath as Virtute started walking across the plaza. It was fine, it was nice. Much calmer than the sword fighting training that Pete had so insisted upon.

 “Do you want to go a little faster?”

 “After I’ve done a lap, I guess,” Patrick said, but really he was too excited and impatient to wait for an entire lap around the central. He made it about halfway around before he tugged on the reins, grinning enthusiastically when Virtute picked up her pace from a simple walk to a trot, her hooves clicking against the ground.

 “Hey, Patrick, you’re doing great!” Pete laughed. “Think you can keep circling here? I’m gonna go get _Fortis_ , my horse, so that we can go and ride out of town together! I won’t be long, trust me.”

 “Yeah, okay!” Patrick called out cheerily, not bothering to watch Pete leave. It was only a few minutes later that Pete came racing past him on his dark colored horse, a black stallion with white fur just above the hooves.

 “Let’s get outta here.”

 

 Riding around outside in the moor was actually much more fun than just circling the plaza over and over again. Patrick was gradually picking up speed on Virtute, trying to keep neck and neck with Pete, who was always racing ahead just to get some teasing in at the beginner horse rider.

 He enjoyed the rush of the wind, or maybe it was just a breeze from having the horse he rode run so fast. Either way, he was happy that he would be able to ride a horse on his own soon and travel with his friends on short trips to places.

 “Having fun back there, slowpoke?” Pete hollered.

 “I’ll be kicking your ass soon, just you wait!” Patrick said in return. He shrieked in laughter as he charged forwards, the thrill of speed rushing through his entire body, just barely ahead of Pete at this point. The moment was like a cliché play that townsfolk would write when Virtute leapt over a rock, and Patrick was experiencing it in slow motion.

 But the moment quickly ended unlike the feeling when Patrick realized Pete was no longer following him. He yanked on the reins, Virtute coming to an almost immediate stop and giving a rather annoyed neigh. Patrick looked over his shoulder to Pete, who halted and was staring off into the distance.

 “What?” Patrick said, slowly coming over to join Pete again.

 “Patrick, there’s a white horse all the way over there,” Pete said slowly, dragging his voice on each and every word. “Do you see it?”  
 “Yeah,” he nodded after a bit of squinting and trying to follow Pete’s line of sight.

 “We don’t have a white horse in our stable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Virtute - the Latin word for Virtue. It should be obvious why Spencer's horse is named this c:  
> **Fortis - the Latin word for Brave.


	4. Chapter 4

 "We don't have time to go get backup from anyone else at home - they'll be gone if we don't act now!" Pete exclaimed, rearing up on his horse before he charged forwards, seeming like he didn't care if the figure on the white horse spotted him. Fortis was fast, and with Pete in control, they'd gain on the silhouette for sure. Patrick followed after him wordlessly, but he still held his concerns, seeing the unknown person beginning to try and escape.

 "Don't worry," Pete growled, "We'll catch up. We know these grounds better than they do. So unless they know the way back to wherever they came from, they better believe that they aren't making it home tonight."

 "Do you think it's the people who have been patrolling around the Abandoned City?" Patrick questioning, furrowing a brow as he tried to think back to the last time he'd seen a patrol. It was just after his arm healed had he seen one.

 "No," he shook his head, "There's usually three or four people on a patrol. This time around, it's one person all by themself, and we're going to figure out who this motherfucker thinks they are."

 Patrick nodded, tugging on the reins a bit to signal Virtute to go faster. If he overworked her, or if she got hurt, he was so fucked. Spencer kind of scared him a little, and he didn't want to even imagine what would happen to him if he messed up his horse. Of course, Brendon has told him multiple times that Spencer is just a scary looking quiet guy, but that didn't stop him from believing he could murder him in two seconds and leave absolutely no traces behind. Pete's rough voice barking out orders dragged Patrick out of his thoughts,

 "I'm going to cut around and see if I can get in front of them," he said, "Keep behind them, don't let them out of your sight!"

 "Okay! Good luck!" Patrick called out as Pete sped up, pulling further away. Now Patrick really had to focus, sharpening his gaze on the intruding person ahead of him. In the corner of his eye, he could see Pete gaining on them quickly. Patrick himself was about half a kilometer away from the figure, but Virtute was faster than the opponents own horse.

 Pete took a sudden turn and cut across their path, causing them to come to a sudden halt. As they tried to turn around, Patrick was right behind them, coming up quickly. He could just barely make out their face if he squinted. Together, he and Pete closed in on them.

 "Who are you?" Pete spat, drawing his sword from the sheath around his waist, pointing it accusingly at the masked stranger. Patrick could see their eyes, staring at the point of the sword, then Pete's face. When the intruder failed to answer, he commanded them to get off their horse. Surprisingly, that they obeyed to do, sliding off of the creature. They stood before Pete, their expression all challenge with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. Pete hopped off of his horse as well, leaving Patrick to only see it fit to do the same.

 "My name is Linda," the person said. She was a woman. She pulled the mask off of her face and let her bright, almost white looking hair fall from where it was tied up. In the contrast, however, her skin and clothes were covered in black powder, cover in ash. Linda kept her strong stance, putting a hand on her hip. "Our neighboring town burned down our village last night because they got raided, claiming that we did it."

 Patrick stared, chewing on his lip nervously. _Fuck_ , he thought, _We caused that._

 "My home is gone. I was going to see if I could find a place in Rome, but the taxes are expensive. I've been looking everywhere else to find a place to stay."

 "We have a place for you," Patrick stated.

 "What?" Pete flashed a look to him, narrowing his eyes. He grabbed ahold of Patrick's arm, dragging him off to the side so that he could lower his voice without Linda being able to hear.. "Hold on a sec, Linda."

 "Patrick, we don't have a place for her to stay!" Pete whispered harshly.

 "She can stay in Brendon's guest room," he said calmly to contrast Pete's anger.

 "We don't even know her!"

 "You didn't know me, Andy, or Joe when you took us to your place!"

 "That's because we all nearly died together, Patrick! And when I saw you, I knew that there was gonna be something special about you. But this is not it."

 "Okay, well, maybe I think that there's something special about Linda," Patrick said tartly, cocking a brow to add to his stubbornness and show he wouldn't back down.

 "Dammit, Trick, fine. But if we get murdered, I'll be seeing you in hell."

 

 After the small predicament, Pete and Patrick escorted Linda home. Meagan was the only one downstairs at the hideout at the time - everyone else was either walking around the ruined city or sleeping, so she took Linda away from the two men for a while to get her bathed and give her some new clothes to wear instead of her old, raggedy and ash-covered ones until they would be washed.

 They sat in the living room, Linda gushing over how cute Meagan's baby, Saint, was, while Pete simply chatted with Patrick until Spencer and Brendon walked in without saying anything. He heard a bag drop and a glass shatter, causing everyone to snap their heads up.

 "Spencer!" Brendon protested, "The glasses!" But Spencer didn't seem to care. His expression was nothing but shocked, wide blue eyes and gaping jaw.

 "Linda?" Spencer whispered hoarsely, nearly stumbling over his feet as he darted to her side, and once she stood up, he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug, burying his face into her shoulder.

 "Spencer," she said softly, hugging him back. "Spencer, I've missed you so much." Linda pulled away after a moment, her cheeks flushing when she realized that everyone was staring.

 "Linda and I ... Linda was my best friend, before I left," Spencer stammered, running a hand through his hair. "I never thought I'd see her again."

 "Oh, here, let me help you," Linda said quickly, hurrying to Brendon to help pick up the glass shards that had spilled out of the sack Spencer dropped. She collected them in her hands, then examined the fallen bag. "It was only one glass that broke. This one has a chipped rim ... " she said slowly, holding up the damaged glass, "But I think it's still okay."

 Brendon nodded slowly, his expression unreadable before he quirked a brow at Spencer. "Thanks, Linda," he said.

 "Um," Pete said rather awkwardly, sensing a tension in the room. Brendon would not be happy with what he was about to say. "Linda is going to be staying with us. We explained the Resistance to her, and she likes it. But since we don't have anymore room - or beds, even - in this place ... she'll be taking up one of your guest rooms." He rubbed his arm sheepishly.

 "Okay," Brendon said rather cheerily, maybe too cheerily, after another moment of silence. The look he flashed to Spencer disappeared the moment it came, but Spencer caught it. Patrick had never seen the healer's partner look so flustered and ... well, not as terrifying as he usually did until then. It was kind of funny, but he held in his laughter in fear of getting glared at. He wasn't ready to lie on his deathbed just yet.

 "Well, we went out and got some new wine glasses. Now one's broken and one's chipped ... but other than that, they should be good," Brendon continued, heading off to the kitchen. Spencer trailed in after him with a look similar to guilt.

 "I know Dallon's out doing his Dallon stuff, but Joe, Andy, and Kenny are probably upstairs sleeping. What time is it, Meagan?" Pete asked, looking over to his girlfriend.

 "It's the eleventh hour, I believe," she replied.

 "We've been out since the sixth," Patrick groaned. "Pete, why can't we train later in the day so that I don't have to get up at the crack of dawn?"

 "It's colder in the morning, so it wakes you up faster," the other said, grinning wide and mischievous. Patrick rolled his eyes, leaning over to smack him on the arm. "Hey! Don't hit me."

 "You deserved it."

 "I'm just trying to do what's best for you," Pete giggled, leaning his head on Patrick's shoulder.

 "No, you're trying to kill me."

 "Who's trying to kill who?" Kenny murmured groggily as he started to come down the stairs, rubbing his eyes. "If there"s any murdering, just do it outside. I don't want our nice rug stained with blood."

 "Gee, thanks," Patrick grumbled, crossing his arms. "Morning, Kenny. Come meet Linda."

 "Hi, Linda," Kenny said, walking past all of them and leaving to get food from the kitchen.

 "That's Kenny," Patrick told Linda. "He's really nice, don't you worry, he's always like this in the morning."

 "Not an early bird, eh?" She laughed.

 "Nah," he shook his head. "I'm surprised he even woke up this early at all. Something must be bothering him."

 "Either that, or he's just woken up a little bit earlier than usual," Pete commented.

 "Quit gossiping about me," Kenny said as he returned from the kitchen, drizzling honey over a biscuit. "Pete's right. Is Dallon out? He wasn't in his room when I checked."

 "Yeah, he's probably out with his wife," said Meagan.

 "Dallon's married?" Patrick asked, surprised. It's not that he thought Dallon was someone who would never have a lover, he'd just never heard anyone mention a spouse. "I didn't know that."

 "He also has two kids. They live just a ways off from here," Kenny shrugged. "It's no big deal. He misses them, he's allowed to spend time with his family."

 "How come they don't move here?" Patrick tilted his head.

 "His wife doesn't like Pete," he laughed.

 The rest of the day was showing Linda around, getting her settled in, finding a place for her to put her stuff in, and moving her horse into the stables. She adapted pretty fast within the next few days, and Pete allowed her to train with Patrick in sword fighting. She was a healthy competitor, Patrick had noticed, and he preferred battling with her much more than Pete, especially since the two were at the same learning pace, and both would be frustrated with Pete constantly yammering on about how they needed to try and advance quicker.

 Things between her and Brendon had resolved quickly when she pointed out a hickey on Spencer's neck one morning while they all ate breakfast. Spencer choked on his water, and Pete went into hysterics since he was laughing so hard. Brendon had "marked his territory," as Kenny put it that day. Dallon, having returned the night before, gave Spencer a playful punch on the arm. Joe made constant innuendos for the rest of the day, much to Spencer's displeasure.

 

 A month passed, and not much changed. Patrick and Linda, after constant training every day at the sixth hour, had improved on their sword skills by a lot. He even beat Joe, once, who claimed himself to be the master at sword fighting. Kenny introduced Patrick to archery and helped him become a better shot, even though Patrick repeatedly insisted that he never wanted to go near a bow again.

 "I have something important to talk to you guys about," Pete announced, voice slow and almost remorseful sounding. He gathered everyone into the living room, standing up front, furrowing his brow.

 "We have to move," he finally said, taking a deep breath. "The patrols are showing up more frequently and always coming closer to the city. If we don't leave soon, we're going to get caught. And that means that Andy, Joe, Patrick, Kenny, Dallon and I would get arrested, maybe even killed. The rest of you, I'm not sure about, but that's exactly why we have to leave. It's too much of a risk, and we just can't have anyone getting hurt."

 "I've already got one wagon built," Sarah added, standing up. "Pete and I have been talking about this all this week. I'm sorry we had to tell you only now. We scoped out a place," she paused, pulling down the painting they'd hung up, and then the map behind it, placing it down on the table, hunching over it.

 "We're over here, and there's an old monastery around this side of Rome. It's pretty big, and it has an upstairs with a study, as well as a bunch of rooms," Sarah said clearly. "It's a further ways from Rome, and especially from here, but I think that's for the better. It'll take us maybe a day or two to get there with wagons."

 "So it's not inhabited anymore? Nobody lives there?" Joe asked.

 "No," Sarah shook her head. "Honestly, I think it'll be better than this old place. I know we have memories here, but ... we have to leave those behind. Anyways, there's going to be three wagons. One for our beds, well, the mattresses; one for our supplies; and one for everyone else to ride in. It'll take two horses to drive each one, and since Patrick, Andy, Joe, and Meagan don't have horses ... that leaves one horse left just for riding, I suppose."

 "You can take my horse to drive the wagons," Linda said after a moments hesitation. "So that you can lead us with yours."

 "Thank you, Linda," Sarah smiled warmly. "That's very kind of you."

 Linda beamed up at the black haired woman, tucking a strand of her own sunkissed hair behind her ear shyly.

 "Hey, Dallon," Patrick spoke up, "What about your wife and kids? Are we going to be moving further away from them?"

 "Yeah," the older man said, lowering his gaze to his hands. "It'll be a longer trip for me when I want to go and see them ... but that's alright, I suppose."

 Patrick rubbed Dallon's back to try and provide comfort. He only sighed, sitting up as he ran a hand through his hair.

 "Really, it's fine. I'll be fine."

 Sarah stared at him through piercing blue eyes, then shrugged. "Once I get the rest of the wagons built, I'll be taking a day off. But the next day, we leave at the fourth hour, bright and early." She giggled brightly at the groans of those who usually woke up later in the day, rolling her eyes.

 "I'll help you," Joe offered, perking up from his usual silence. Sarah raised her eyebrows in surprise, clasping her hands together.

 "Great!" She said, grinning at him widely. "That's so nice of you, Joe! Thank you! We'll get to work tomorrow, okay? My arms are still a little sore."

 Joe nodded, sinking back into the couch, folding his arms across his chest. He didn't look irritated at all, but rather ... bored. Patrick offered him a smile. Joe gave him a lousy, half assed smile in return.

  "Saint, you're gonna have a new place to live in," Pete whispered as he walked over to Meagan, taking their son from her arms. "A new place to grow up. And maybe when you're a little bit older ... we'll have a home."

 The sentence nearly broke Patrick's heart into two pieces. The love for his son on Pete's face was powerful, and that's how he knew that after all of this, he really did make the right choice in joining the Resistance. They had a cause, and they were going to put it into effect.

 

 "Get a move on!" Pete shouted down the corridor, knocking loudly on doors to wake everyone up. It took a week, but Sarah and Joe had built the other two wagons. Finally, after hard work, it was moving day.

 "Wake up, everybody!" He called again.

 Patrick was (gently) shaken awake by Andy, as usual. Andy was quicker to wake up and quicker to drive himself out of the morning bog that took a while to clear out of Patrick's mind. He whined a little as he sat up, lazily batting Andy away.

 "I'm up, I'm up!" He protested.

 "No, Patrick, you really need to get out of bed. Dallon woke me up a little earlier so I could help him with moving the mattresses downstairs and outside to the wagons. We've already got mine and Joe's out."

 "Oh," Patrick blinked, sliding out of bed. Did he really sleep through all of that? He quickly changed into some of his clothes, stuffing everything else into a bag and heading out of the room. Dallon was just outside of the doorway, startling Patrick. The taller man walked into his room after flashing a smug grin.

 There were a few loaves of bread sitting on the table in the living room. He remembered Meagan baking quite a bit during the past week, so he was sure it was for their travels. He ripped one in half and made his way outside after stuffing a small portion of the baked good into his mouth, greeted by the large wagons, each lead by two horses. Sarah was setting up the harnesses.

 "Morning, 'Trick!" Kenny said from the top of the wagons driver seat, a set of reins in each hand, smiling at him warmly. "You ready for travel?"

 "Uh, yeah," he nodded, chewing on his lower lip. Patrick tilted his head, wondering how on earth he was going to get up onto the tall carriages. He wasn't sure where Sarah had gotten the wood from, either, considering there were no trees in the area, but he shrugged it off and assumed that she'd traded for it elsewhere.

 "Get in the wagon, then. Since Pete's driving the storage and Dallon's with the mattresses, and then Sarah's leading us, I'm driving for everyone who isn't. The wheels are being held still right now by a stop, so just climb on them and get innit." Kenny ran a hand through his short hair as he spoke.

 Patrick cocked a brow, stepping onto the pegs of the wheel, like a rather odd ladder, then onto the wheel itself, holding onto the frame underneath the tarp thrown over the wagon tightly. He moved around the side to one of the open ends. Brendon sat near the entrance, holding out a hand to help Patrick get down from the edge.

 "Thanks," he smiled, moving around to the back of the wagon. Spencer, Meagan (with Saint), Linda, and Joe were all in the carriage as well.

 "Patrick, are you excited that we're gonna be living in a new place?" Joe asked, tapping his fingers against the flooring.

 "I'm a little nervous," Patrick shrugged. "I mean, I know we haven't been here all too long, but I still feel kind of attached."

 "Same," Joe agreed. "I miss my old home, too, though. It kinda sucks, thinking that we'll never be able to go back."

 "Did you live in Rome, Joe?"

 "Yeah," he nodded. "I know you did. I used to see you walking around the agora and looking at the lires that that one guy was selling."

 He flushed in the cheeks a little, grinning sheepishly. "Yeah. I've always wanted to learn how to play one."

 "Huh," Joe clicked his tongue, poking at his inner cheek with it. "I had one when I was little, my mother taught me how to play. I dunno if I still remember now."

 Patrick brightened up, staring at him with wide, interested eyes. "Do you think if we bought one you could see if you can still play it? And then you could teach me if you do? Joe, I'd be so grateful, geez."

 "Maybe," the other shrugged. "Like I said, don't get your hopes up, I'm not sure if I really can anymore."

 "Can't what?" Came the soft voice of Andy as he slipped into the wagon, settling down next to Patrick. "We just finished loading the last mattress and moving the stops off of the wheels. We should be going soon."

 "Play the lire," Joe answered. "He wants me to teach him if we can buy one after the move, but I don't know if I still remember."

 "Ah," Andy nodded.

 "I'm gonna go back to sleep," Joe commented after a moment, sliding down to the flooring and curling up, resting his head on his sack of clothes and smaller personal belongings. Patrick just rolled his eyes.

 Being so early in the midst of summer, the sun hadn't risen yet. He hadn't bothered checking the time, but it was probably a little earlier or a little bit after four. Patrick sighed calmly, gazing up at the stars from the open end of the carriage. He swore there were millions, no, billions of stars decorating the sky. He leaned on the edge of the cart, watching more and more stars appear as the ride began.

 It felt like a long time, just staring out, losing himself to his thoughts. He tried counting the brightest stars he could find, but he obviously had lost track after a while. They all seemed so bright.

 "Amazing, isn't it?" Andy spoke up, startling Patrick back into the present. He was right next to him, staring at the sky. His hazel eyes flickered to the sun that was beginning to peek over the horizon.

 "Y-yeah," Patrick agreed, taking a deep breath. "Hey, Andy ... how many stars do you think are up there?"

 "Infinite," he said breathlessly.

 "Wow," he muttered. Patrick leaned into Andy, who draped an arm around his shoulders. They watched the sun rise up together - cheesy moment, sure, but one he would cherish in all its tenderness. From waking up early, the younger man ended up falling asleep against Andy, breathing softly. Andy smiled, tousling his hair with a colorful hand before leaning over to pull a blanket over him.

 

 He slept until the afternoon, where a large bump caused the wagon to jolt, and Patrick woke up. Andy had moved from his place "underneath" Patrick to the other side of the wagon, where he appeared to be having a conversation with Kenny, Spencer, and Brendon, probably to be keeping him company while he steered the horses.

 Patrick rolled his eyes, unable to help but feel a little happy at the other's kindness. Apparently, Joe (and Meagan, who also fell asleep) had woken up to the same bump on the trail, grumbling to himself about how he didn't want to wake up yet.

 "Hi, Meagan," he said, scooting down to the end where everyone else was beginning to crowd. "How are you feeling?"

 "Traveling always makes me tired," she admitted. "Even if I'm not the one doing the driving. When night falls, Spencer is going to switch with Kenny, Brendon with Dallon. Pete says he can keep up, and so does Sarah. But I really think that they should have somebody to switch out with them, and that we should take a break so that Sarah can rest. I don't want her to tire herself out."

 "I'd be willing to take Pete's place," Patrick offered, tilting his head. "It's the best I could do to repay him for teaching me how to ride."

 "That's sweet of you, Patrick," she smiled warmly. "Hey, Kenny? Tell Pete that Patrick's willing to switch out for him if he needs it," she then called.

 "Got it," Kenny said, hollering the message to Pete. After a reply was faintly heard, Kenny sent a glance over his shoulder. "He says okay, but he still really doesn't think that's he going to need it."

 Patrick shrugged, grabbing his bag. He pulled out the half loaf of bread he'd snagged from the table, ripping off a piece. Hesitating for a moment, he passed the bread to Joe, who ripped off a piece. It went to everyone around the wagon - and Spencer handing a chunk to Kenny - before it made it's way back to him.

 "Thanks, Patrick!" Brendon grinned widely, turning around to face him. "I forgot to grab some bread earlier this morning, so if we're not allowed to take from the storage cart, this is all the food I've got."

 "Brendon!" Spencer whined, lightly whapping Brendon's arm with the back of his hand. "I told you to get some! Did you not hear me? Were you really so invested in staring at that bird you saw?"

 "It was very interesting," Brendon protested. "Don't be mean, Spence, you loooooove me."

 "I do love you," the other shushed him. "And I'm not being mean, you forgot to get yourself bread! You're lucky I love you enough to share some of mine with you when you start complaining about how hungry you are later. Patrick is going to need whatever he has left of that one loaf for however long the ride takes, even if it gets a little stale, and I'm not letting you take anymore."

 "But Spen -"

 "No, Bren. No."

 "Fine," Brendon grumbled, leaning into Spencer with a pout. He let loose a small smile when Spencer pulled him close, but quickly realized he held a simper and forced it away with an over dramatic frown. The younger man rolled his eyes and pressed a kiss to Brendon's cheek apologetically.

 "It's okay," Patrick said softly, "He can take as much as he likes. I don't mind."

 "You'll mind when you're hungry," Spencer said, rolling his eyes once again. "I'll ask Pete if we can take some stuff from storage."

 "I'll take your bread off your hands, Patrick," Kenny called out over his shoulder, flashing Patrick a wide grin. Patrick only scoffed at him, stuffing his "desired by everyone" bread back into his bag.

 "Now my bread has gone into hiding," he joked. "We shall never know when it may return from it's dark lair."

 Joe rolled his eyes. "When your stomach starts rumbling again, you'll drag it out of it's cave and murder it brutally. That's just how the cycle of bread works, and it has to accept its sad, sad fate."

 "Wow, Joe, way to kill the mood," Patrick murmured.

 

 Night fell, and after continuous insisting from Meagan, they ended up sleeping through the night instead of performing a switch. Linda, having slept all day, performed a night watch to make sure that nobody or no living thing that could be potentially threatening was in the area in which they'd stopped.

 In the morning, Patrick took Pete's place (even though Pete said that he was fine now), Brendon took Dallon's, and Spencer took Kenny's, all following after Sarah as she lead them to their new home.

 Patrick did have a little trouble steering the wagon at first, seeing that he wasn't even riding the two horses he was given control of. On the front of the wagon, there was a little bench sticking out for him to sit on, and he held the reins of the horses below him. Before Pete went to go sit with the others in the people wagon, he offered Patrick some guidance on how to control the wagon. Of course, he was grateful for the knowledge.

 Not much happened after that. Another night fell, they all slept, then switched in the morning as they would.

 But arriving to their new home was incredible. The sun was just peeking out over the horizon as they made out the silhouette of the monastery. It was then that Sarah began to pick up her pace, as did Pete, Dallon, and Kenny, despite the constant rocking of the wagon that lead everyone to complain about it.

 Once they were there ... it was amazing, to Patrick. The old building was fairly large, like Sarah had said. She lead everyone around to the entrance - a small church, where the back doors inside lead to a broad hallway with a staircase in the center. Down the hallway were more and more doors, leading to a study, a kitchen, a living room, an old library (where Patrick knew he was going to be spending plenty of time in), and even one that lead outside to a stable. Upstairs was another study, and then bedrooms. The building went around in a squarish shape, and in the middle of it all was a garden with dying olive and fig trees, and a small pond of water in the center. With some work, they could reflourish it and bring it back to life. It was perfect.

 It took most of the day to get everything out of the wagons and to where they belonged. They put most of the store into the kitchen, and dragged the beds upstairs to empty bed frames in each room, waiting to be filled. Meagan and Linda helped get the horses around to the stable and fed them. In a little while, they would form routine like they had back at the old city where they lived.

 Patrick couldn't wait.

 

 After everyone had settled in to their new home, things started to run pretty smoothly from that point onwards. Now everyone had their own room, and they decided that the small church in the front would be their meeting room. Pete - or whoever it was that was making an announcement - would speak up front while everyone sat in the pews and listened. Patrick liked it better than just sitting in the living room.

 They scraped the red wax off of the old map they possessed and burned a new candle to make a new “X” on the map, where their new home was. It was visible how much further away from Rome they were, but Sarah said it didn’t feel like much difference. Everyone could only trust her word.

 “You know,” Pete said as everyone munched on their breakfast in the kitchen, “I think we’ve made a lot of progress ever since Andy, Joe, and Patrick joined. And since we’re all starting to settle in quite nicely into our new home … and the fact that Sarah lead us here so perfectly … I think it’d be alright to have our first celebration night here.”

 Sarah grinned widely, ducking her head as a light pink color made its way to her cheeks. Lifting her head after a brief moment, she ran a hand through her hair, not entirely too sure what to say.

 “Thank you, Pete,” she smiled.

 “Is having a celebration not common?” Linda spoke up. Patrick realized that she’d never been there for a celebration - but then again, he’d only have one. Memories of his first flooded in, and he remembered Andy kissing him. He averted his eyes to the floor, chewing on his lip like he always did.

 “We have them when something great has happened or been accomplished,” Spencer told her. “It’s also one of the few times Pete will allow us to drink wine, since it’s so expensive and we don’t have a lot of it.”

 “Oh,” she nodded, now understanding. “Yeah, I think that’d be nice, then. To have a celebration.”

 “So it’s settled?” Pete asked, lacing his fingers together as he glanced around at his peers, his hazel eyes seeming focused.

 “I guess so,” Dallon said.

 

 Later that night, Meagan had brought out the more finer cheeses and the fresher bread they had, pouring everyone who desired one a glass of wine. She even baked a batch of honey cakes, a dessert that they all appreciated, for everyone to snack on. Linda introduced the kind mother to kourabiethes, another form of dessert that Patrick had deemed delicious the moment he ate one. Sarah ended up having to pull him away from the plate before the rolls of sweet shortbread disappeared, much to his disappointment. When he complained, she told him that everyone needed to try them.

 “I’m thinking of trying to bring the garden back to life,” Meagan said over the dining table, picking out a piece of cheese. “It would be nice to have fresh figs and olives. Plus, it would made it look nice.”

 “I’d help you with that,” Linda offered, smiling. “Plus, my family taught me how to make olive oil, since it’s our business. I think we could make our own if we had the right stuff for it .. and I think the trees out are mature, too. We’ll just have to wait and see if we can bring them back to their lively selves.”

 “Ohhh,” Spencer cooed, “We haven’t had olive oil in a while. We ran out about a year or so ago. Pete didn’t think it was worth it to buy after that.”

 “Be quiet,” Pete scoffed. “I just didn’t want us to waste our money on something like that. I know, I know, it makes bread taste better, but you just gotta deal with it, Spencer! You can live without it!”

 “Whatever,” the younger man rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying, I think it’d be nice to have it again.”

 “Hey, hey,” Brendon peeped. “We should have a toast.”

 Pete nodded, standing up from his seat in his chair.

 “To a new home,” he said.

 “To a new home,” everyone else chorused.


End file.
